and i'm like, forget you
by ten.years.only.with.you
Summary: Just another reason to hate this holiday. It's not even Jewish. And she isn't here, holding his hand through it all. PQ


He hates Thanksgiving.

I mean, it is pretty legit going to Finn's and watching football with Burt Hummel, while Kurt and the other ladies giggle and squeal in the kitchen. It smells like yams and cranberries and all that good stuff that sticks to your bones. Granted he has to work out extra or whatever, unlike Finn who doesn't care, just fucking eats, like, ten pounds of turkey legs and potatoes.

"What, dude, Rachel thinks I'm hot."

And Puck rolls his eyes. Seriously, Finn is his bro again, but the dude, is like, fucking retarded dumb.

Across the table, Kurt daintily sips his umbrella drink, and gives Puck apprehensive glances out the corner of one well-manicured eye. A smarmy smirk quivers on his mouth, until his mom reaches over and smacks the hell out of the back of his head. Fuck, the woman is one tough Jew.

Like he said, all this shit is good. It's what missing that makes it kind of hard to even swallow or look at the only empty chair at the table.

[-]

Last year for Thanksgiving, Quinn was living with his family. And despite all the awkward and weird bull (_dude you knocked up my girlfriend, he's your best friend, especially now_), Puck's mom still made them go to the Hudson's and Hummel's Thanksgiving dinner.

Puck generally does not question his mother's authority. He learned that rule when he was, like, nine and there were fireworks involved, but the point is he doesn't fuck with Mother Puckerman. But this once, he was all like, no fucking way are we going over there after everything that has happened this year. She took this deep breath, called him Noah, and subsequently hung his ass out to dry. Tossing around jargon like _family _and _thankful _and _brand new baby_. And then she threw in her old standard that worked every time.

"Noah, can't you just be a good Jew. Why couldn't you have knocked up Rachel Berry, instead?"

(He doesn't know if Quinn hears it, but if she does, she says nothing. Just pulls a brush through her hair, glosses her lips, and slips into her jacket.)

He grunts unintelligibly at her and walks into his room where Quinn is perched like some fucking glowing angel in plaid, on the foot of his bed. He really likes the fact that she is pregnant. He'd never tell his mother or Quinn or anyone else, but she is so _sexy_ as a preggo. And in a few months she is going to give birth to _his_ baby. Shit's awesome. Yeah, he may have screwed up, but it isn't as bad as he thought it was going to be.

He even likes those four a.m. runs to the store where they zoom around on shopping carts and duck behind produce, searching for the perfectly sized amount of goat cheese that Quinn can cram into her mouth.

So yeah, it isn't all that bad, but now he has to face Finn. And his mother. And Kurt. And his father. He's not strong enough for that.

Quinn sits in the chair next to him, whispering little streams of hot air onto his neck. It's really hard to concentrate on being a decent human being when he's here at his ex-best friend's house with his preggo ex-girlfriend. Yeah, Puck's uncomfortable. The only thing keeping him from punching a whole in the wall is the fact that he is having to eat with one hand cause Quinn won't let go of the other one. Seriously, like the girl has Vulcan death grip around his fingers.

Not that he fucking minds. But he really really, wants Finn to stop staring at them like he just discovered they were aliens or something. Through gritted teeth, he leans over and whispers more hot air on Quinn's neck.

It has to be almost over, and then it happens.

"So Quinn, how's the baby?" It's a simple enough question and he knows Mrs. Hudson means well when she says it, slowly chewing her asparagus and looking at Mother Puckerman for approval. She nods and it seems like it might be okay until Finn pipes up.

"I can't take this shit!" He slams down his plate and darts up the staircase. Puck's kinda finding it amusing that Finn cursed at Thanksgiving, but he also realizes that Finn is his_ best_ friend. And he kinda misses him. Having Quinn is great, but it's not like he went about it fairly or anything. He knocked up his _best friend's girlfriend while she was drunk_. Shit's pretty messed up.

But in every great romance novel (and he has no clue when he started to give a damn about those), there's only room for one leading man. And sitting there with Quinn's tiny warm palm rubbing circles in his own, he thinks he might be it.

He admits that he isn't the best boyfriend to the baby momma. He kinda likes sex, and Quinn, is giving him any, so he finds Santana and sorts that shit out. It's going well, until Quinn finds out, and she looks so broken like this doll that his sister had. All cracked in the wrong places, cherry pout chapping over and eyes welling up with, yeah, those things.

He's so disappointed in himself that he recruits the glee guys to sing "Beth" on a Thursday afternoon. Quinn is sniffling and smoothing down her skirt through the song, and he feels a little less like an idiot when she forgives him. And then at Regionals when she goes into labor and asks for him to be in the room, he dies a little bit.

It's badass that he gets to see his kid, but knowing he'll never be able to hold her wasn't supposed to be part of the plan. And when they're leaning into each other against the nursery window, he asks what she doesn't want to hear. And he knows it.

He doesn't see or talk to her the entire summer. 76 sweltering days of pool cleaning and lawn mowing and dropping off checks to her mother's house to help pay the hospital bills. Every now and again he'll get a flush of worry, thinking about her by herself. All golden hair and sad ivy eyes, corners of her mouth absent of sass and sauciness. He looked up post-pardem depression, and even though he doesn't believe in God, he like, really fucking hopes she doesn't get it. He actually prays and some shit.

But all thoughts of post-pardem and _we had a baby, Q_ leave his mind when he lays eyes on her the first day of junior year. The sinfully short Cheerio skirt teasing the skin of her thighs swishes seductively with purpose as she parts the hallways with one arch of her eyebrow over those ivy green orbs. A smirk stirs on his lips as she moves towards him with hunger in her tight mouth, and he can see the entire year has just fucking _evaporated_.

_So what if they had a baby? _

With one sideways glance, he feels the hall spin and the floor rumble and the sounds of chatter deafening his ears. Queen back in her rightful throne, and she doesn't need you. Glossed mouth quirked into sarcasm pouring from her tongue, and all he can listen to is that Cee-lo song as he rides around, skipping the first day of classes, yelling out the lyrics in his truck, pounding back a bottle of Jack. It wasn't going to be like this.

And then Sam happens. And juvie happens. And he knows it's over cause there was never really a fight, even though he knows she is _exactly _the kind of girl you fight for. In order for there to have been a fight, he would have to be worthy, and let's face it. He's Puck.

Sam wins her heart over Jason Mraz according to Finn and Puck hates the guy _a lot _for taking Quinn. But then again he took her from Finn, so who is he to judge. A lot of his days are spent pretending that her being happy is enough for him. He's a good liar to everyone around him except her. Which explains the darting away from him in the hall, ending eye contact as soon as it begins, and millions of other little things that only she would ever be able to notice. Fuck, he hates how deep in she got. And that is why, he hates Thanksgiving this year.

The chair beside him is empty, cold. And there is no extra place at the table for the brand new baby. For some fucked up reason, he thought he would have all these things to be thankful for in another year. But Quinn is absent, and his daughter is someone else's daughter. He loves his mom and Finn (shut the fuck up, okay) and even Kurt a little (emphasis on little), but he kinda thought he might have more to be thankful for this year.

He sits back, barely tuning out the chatter, Finn across from him grinning, Kurt waving his palms in the air, Burt and Mrs. H holding hands on the table top, mom shoveling in yams like it's her job. He almost feels good. And then he looks left and there is no mother or baby. He thinks he was stupid to believe he could have been the leading man. His life isn't a romance. It's an action-horror-thriller-comedy with guest appearances by beautiful girls he's loved since he was eight.

Hers is the magical fairytale romance with flower petal gowns and chocolate rivers sprinkled with sugar and the breathtaking prince who doesn't fuck everything up. The only reason he was there was because he snuck in and then snuck out quicker than a one-act.

No one roots for the villain.


End file.
